
Class, Pl j^ 

Goppght l^" - 



CBPXBIGHT DEPOSm 



GLIMPSES OF NEWTON'S PAST 



IN HISTORY AND DRAMA 



AGNES BERYL CURTIS 



'^ 



BOSTON 

PRESS OF GEO. H. ELLIS CO. 
1918 






Copyright 1918 
Agnks Beryl Curtis 



SEP 21 m% 

•4i'CI.A5(i;!779 



To Miss Mary A. Laselle 

I affectionately dedicate 

my first book 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 



The author desires to express thanks for criti- 
cism and advice to Superintendent U. G. Wheeler, 
Miss Mabel C. Bragg, assistant superintendent of 
Newton schools, and Miss Mary A. Laselle of the 
Newton Vocational School. 



I 



PREFACE. 

Newton has been peculiarly fortunate in her his- 
tory. 

Here John Eliot, the greater teacher, taught the 
Indians of a vast wilderness the way of civilization. 
At a later date, Governor Claflin and his gracious 
wife entertained at *'The Old Elms" men and 
women who were noted throughout the w^hole 
world. 

Newton has always been a strong, vigorous com- 
munity, placing above everything else religious in- 
struction, the welfare and the education of her 
children. To the State of Massachusetts she has 
furnished many men who have contributed to her 
glory and fame. 

If this little book gives the children of our city 
a greater appreciation and a greater love for New- 
ton, if it arouses devotion and loyalty in the hearts 
of her coming citizens, its purpose will have been 
accomplished. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

1. Separation of Newton from Cambridge .... 1 

(a) Historical Sketch ........ 1 

(&) Play 3 

2. The Early Life of Newton 10 

(a) Historical Sketch 10 

(&) Play 17 

3. The Early School of Newton 30 

(a) Historical Sketch 30 

(&) Play .33 

4. John Eliot Preaching to the Indians .... 41 

(a) Historical Sketch 41 

(&) Play 47 

5. The Underground Railroad 55 

(a) Historical Sketch 55 

(&) Play 59 

6. Under the Old Elms 68 

(a) Historical Sketch 68 

(6) Play 71 



THE SEPARATION OF NEWTON FROM 
CAMBRIDGE. 

Once upon a time, Newton was a part of the city 
of Cambridge. At first Cambridge wasn't called 
"Cambridge/' but bore the name of "Newtowne.'' 
It was only after the noted university was estab- 
lished there that the name of the place was 
changed to Cambridge. 

Some distance away a small settlement sprang 
up that was destined to become the Newton we 
know. Because it belonged to Cambridge, it was 
christened ''New Cambridge" or ''Cambridge 
Village." 

Although the Village belonged to the town, yet 
it desired to be free and independent. As time 
went on, a spirit of rebellion began to permeate the 
place. They wanted their own church. Their 
horses, weary from a week's labor, had to travel a 
long journey to Cambridge, so that the farmers 
might attend religious ser^dces. They wanted their 
own school. Their boys had to walk too far in 
order to secure an education. 

Cambridge was amazed at the attitude of the 
Village. Didn't the people know how far they 
were from the church and the school before they 
settled in Cambridge Village? 

In 1656, two leading citizens, John Jackson and 
Thomas AViswall, appeared before the General 
Court and asked that they be free from paying 



church taxes to Cambridge. Cambridge refused, 
but just a year later the Court announced that no 
farmer should be taxed who lived over four miles 
from the meeting house. 

The work of independence had begun. 

During the next few years, a bitter struggle took 
place between Cambridge and Cambridge Village. 
Then an Indian War broke out and the petition 
of Cambridge Village was forgotten. At the close 
of the war, James II made Andros governor of New 
England. When the petition for separation came 
up again (for Cambridge Village would not let the 
matter rest ) , there was no opposition. 

So on January 11, 1688, Cambridge Village at 
last won her desired independence. For a long 
period of time she had been bravely striving 
for freedom, and she had finally come out victori- 
ous. You can see what pluck and determination 
will accomplish. 

Of course, the people immediately wanted an- 
other name for the town, so they called their village 
"Newtowne,'' the name that originally belonged to 
Cambridge. Eventually, ^'Newtowne" was changed 
to "Newton." 



DRAMATIZATION. 

Place — At the home of Deliverance and Con- 
stance Bartlett. 

Scene — The living room. There is a large fire- 
place at the right. Over it is a mantel on which is 
arranged, in a neat, methodical row, a few pieces 
of pewter. Rush seat chairs and wooden settees 
are arranged comfortably about the room. On the 
table are lighted tallow candles. A spinning wheel 
is near the fireplace. Also two low benches for the 
children. A corner cupboard displays rare china 
and pew^ter. 

Ti7ne — January 11, 1688. Formal separation of 
Newton from Cambridge. 

Characters — 

John James, a leading man of the town, who has 
gone to Cambridge to get the decision of the 
Court in regard to the separation of Cambridge 
Village from Cambridge. 

Edward Hull^ his companion. 

Deliverance Bartlett^ a large man. A leader of 
Cambridge Village. Wears a Colonial suit of 
black cloth, dark gray stockings, white collar and 
cnffs, a hat of black felt with small silver buckles 
and low shoes with silver buckles. (This is the 
costume for all the men and boys. ) 

Oliver Winters^ a tall, dark, vehement man. 
Strong supporter of Deliverance Bartlett. 

Noisy John, light, hot-tempered and impetuous. 

Thomas Fryb, an unobtrusive, quiet observer. 



Old Peter, a tottering old man with a long 
white beard. Leans on a cane. 

Martin Held, indolent and easy-going. 

Rosin the Beau, an old man who plays the fiddle. 

George Grand, very boastful. 

Abraham Bartlett, i children of Deliverance 

David Bartlett, | Bartlett. 

Sammie Winters, son of Oliver Winters. 

Constance Bartlett, wife of Deliverance Bartlett. 
Gown of either gray or brown or dark purple. A 
white apron. A falling collar and white cuffs 
turned back over the sleeves. A kerchief. ( This 
is the costume for all the women and girls. ) 

Abigail Winters, John Winters' wife. A sharp- 
tongued woman. 

Temperance Sewall, wife of Noisy John. A stout, 
easy-going, good-natured woman. 

Penelope Daniel, a widow. Modest and retiring. 

Goody Gade, a little bent-over woman, who looks 
about with curious eyes. The town gossip. 

Kate Frye, who endeavors to imitate the manners 
of old England. She wears a bright colored cape 
and a bright bow in her hair, showing her incli- 
nation toward frivolous and worldly things. 

June Ford, a pretty young girl. 

Rebecca, 1 

HoPE^ > children of Penelope. 

Patience, ] 

Alicia, daughter of Thomas and Kate Frye. 
Dressed more gaily than the other children. 

The curtain goes up showing Deliverance Bart- 
lett seated in a rocker by the fire and David is 
near him. His wife Constance is spinning. 

4 



Constance : (pausing in her work) Where can 
Abraham be? Perhaps some Indian or a wild beast 
has attacked him. 

Deliverance: (soothingly) He is at the school, 
that's all. Nothing's happened to a sturdy lad like 
Abraham. Run, David, and get some more wood 
from the wood-box. It's getting a bit chilly here. 

(David rims out and soon returns with a log 
that he puts on the pre. A loud pounding out- 
side is heard.) 

Constance : (jumping up nervously) Who's 
that? 

Deliverance : David, open the door. 

(David runs to the door and opens it. Oliver 
Winters^ his wife and child enter.) 

Deliverance: (rising) Well! Well! This is an 
unexpected pleasure. 

Oliver Winters: To tell the truth, Brother De- 
liverance, this is not a friendly visit only. 
We came here to await the decision of the Court. 
(Puts his hat on the chair.) I say it's about time 
that Cambridge did something in this matter ! 

Deliverance : I think so, too ! 

Oliver Winters: (emphatically) I think we'll 
get our freedom this time. 

Constance : We mustn't be too optimistic. 

Deliverance: I say the Court'll give us our in- 
dependence. They must. 

Constance : (opening the door and peering out) 
But I don't see where Abraham can be. He should 
have been here two hours ago. 

Deliverance: That is another matter. Having 



the school so far away ! Think of those boys walk- 
ing so far. Then Cambridge tells us when we com- 
plain about it that we knew before we came here 
just how far we were away from the school. 

Abigail: (speaking quickly) Well, / say, we'd 
have been free long ago if every one had done as 
he should. Some one's been bribed by the Court. 

Constance: (indignantly) How absurd! We 
were glad enough to have our own church but now 
we want to be absolutely free and independent. We 
want our own school. 

(A loud knock sounds on the door.) 

Deliverance: Come in! 

(Noisy John^ Temperance^, Thomas Frye^ 
Kate Frye and Alicia enter.) 

Noisy John : (stamping his feet) Ah, it's a bit- 
ter cold day, Brother Deliverance. We ought to be 
home, but w^e couldn't resist the temptation of 
coming in and waiting to hear the decision of the 
Court. 

Kate Frye: (untying her hood) I've been won- 
dering about this all day. We must win our inde- 
pendence this time. 

Constance: (breaking in) I don't see where 
Abraham can be! 

Temperance: Hasn't he come home yet? 

Constance : No ! 

David: (excitedly) I think old Peter's coming 
and Rosin with his fiddle. (Flings the door open.) 

( Martin Held^ Old Peter and Rosin stand on 
the threshold.) 

Alicia : Oh, Rosin has brought his fiddle ! 



Rosin : (smiling) I never go anywhere without 
it. 

Abigail: (irritably) 1 wish you'd close the 
door ! You're letting a lot of cold air in. And my 
rheumatism hasn't been very good this winter. 

David: (still holditig the door open) There are 
others coming. 

(Penelope^ Rebecca^ Hope^ Patience^ Goody 
Gade and June all enter.) 

Deliverance: (shaking hands ivith them) Well, 
this is indeed a fine party ! 

Goody Gade: (in a high-pitched voice) We all 
came here to await the decision of the Court. 

Deliverance: I myself can't do anything until 
I hear how this matter comes out. 

Constance : I hear footsteps ! (Runs to the 
door.) Oh! It's George Grand! 

(George Grand enters.) 

George Grand: Um! A nice day! I suppose 
you all came for the same reason I did. 

Goody Gade: (sarcastically) Why did you 
come? To tell us how we could become separated 
from Cambridge and then never do anything to 
help? 

George Grand: Well, I never! There's Martin 
here — 

Martin: (lazily) I always say, let well enough 
alone. 

Abigail: Where'd you be now if we all felt that 
way? 

7 



June: Play us something while we're waiting, 
Rosin. 

(Rosin plays a lively air.) 

Noisy John : (breaking in) I tell you, we've got 
to win our independence this time ! (Pounding the 
table,) After the part we have taken in the Indian 
war with our men fighting side by side by the men 
of Cambridge, surely the Court will not refuse us. 

Uncle Peter: (musingly) Cambridge Village 
has always wanted to be free. 

Constance : Oh, it's growing darker and darker ! 
Where can Abraham be? 

(Abraham dashes in. He looks dazed and 
frightened. ) 

Abraham : (crying) O mother ! 
Constance: (rushes to him) What is it? 

(They all gatlier round him.) 

Abraham : (breathlessly) On the way home I — 
when — I stayed after school so that the master 
could help me with my sums. I didn't think how 
quickly it became dark ! When I was going through 
Fuller's woods an Indian jumped out at me and 
chased me. He was all painted and he looked 
terrible ! 

Constance: I say you shan't go to that school 
another day. The idea of having it so far away. 
I say, you shan't go to school another day until we 
have a school of our own ! 

Noisy John: You're right, Mistress Constance. 
I wouldn't let him go if I were in your place. 

8 



Deliverance: (taking his gun from over the 
fireplace) I'll go after that Indian ! 

Temperance: (calmly) Don't be so hot-headed, 
Brother Deliverance. You'd only get yourself into 
trouble ! 

Uncle Peter: (striking the floor violently with 
his cane) Aye ! Aye ! 

Abigail: (irritably) Prithee, stop pounding the 
ground like a madman! 

Constance: (who has opened the door a very 
little) Who's that coming down the hill? 

(They all crowd around the open door.) 

David: (excitedly) There are John James and 
Edward Hull from Cambridge! 

(The two men dash suddenly into the room; 
David slams the door, and they all gather 
about the newcomers.) 

Deliverance : (shaking John James by the arm) 
Speak, man ! Give us the news ! 

Noisy John (impatiently) Art thou a graven 
image that thou has lost thy voice? 

The People : Give us the news ! The news ! 

Edward Hull: We are tree! The Court has 
granted us our independence ! We are free ! 

(A general hubbub of joy and relief follows.) 

Deliverance: {to Rosin) Come, Rosin. Play us a 
lively tune for this day have we won our separa- 
tion from Cambridge. 

(Rosin plays.) 

curtain. 



THE EARLY LIFE OF NEWTON. 

In the early days of Newton, the people lived on 
large farms. As is true in nearly every new coun- 
try, agriculture was the leading occupation. More- 
over, manufacturing was discouraged by England. 
Some years later, however, manufacturing sprang 
up and flourished. 

Picture to yourself Newton in the early days. 
On either side of the stately Charles stretched wide 
fertile farmlands. Near the center of the town 
stood the meeting house and at the foot of Institu- 
tion Hill was the school. 

Among the largest farm owners were the Fullers, 
the Jacksons, William Robinson, Deacon John 
Staples and the Woodwards. 

The old colonial homestead was wonderfully at- 
tractive. Sturdy elms guarded the roadway lead- 
ing up to the house, which was very often painted 
white with green shutters. The frame was square, 
with projecting windows in the roof. In order to 
allow the snow to slide down easily, the roof was 
built high and steep. 

In the front yard was the wellsweep with the 
old oaken buckets about which so much has been 
written. Here flourished fragrant lilacs, pink and 
white roses, snowballs and snowberries. Morning- 
glories and sweet honeysuckle clambered over the 
low lattice. Near by stood hives of droning bees. 
On either side of the homestead were orchards of 

10 



apple, cherry and plum. All about stretched fields 
of growing crops, bathed in the soft glow of the 
warm sunshine. Cows mooed gently in the pas- 
tures, hens cackled loudly in the barnyard and fat 
porkers grunted contentedly in the pen. The barns 
fairly burst with plenty. An air of abundance per- 
vaded the place. 

The farmer produced his own meat, vegetables, 
eggs, butter, molasses, cheese and fruit. Conse- 
quently neither he nor his good wife ever worried 
about food conservation. 

The work of the men was for the most part farm- 
ing. Of course there were some blacksmiths, ma- 
sons and carpenters. But the majority of the men 
followed farming as an occupation. The work of 
the spring, summer, and fall consisted mostly in 
planting, tilling and reaping the harvests, but in 
the winter the men tended the animals and cut 
the wood. 

Let us enter one of these old-time homes. The 
first room beyond the threshold was the entry. 
There was a striking lack of furniture. The wind- 
ing staircase ascended to the rooms above. Open- 
ing from the entry was the large kitchen contain- 
ing the huge fireplace. The kitchen w^as the living 
room, the keeping room, the sitting room, the din- 
ing room of the family. The bedrooms might be 
bare and icy, the entire house damp and chill but 
the kitchen with its glowing fireplace always 
radiated good cheer and hospitality. 

Over the fireplace on the mantel was an orderly 
row of candlesticks with their accompanying snuff- 
ers. From the end of a string dangled a soot- 
blackened almanac that bore the mark of frequent 

11 



handling. On either side of the fireplace were the 
big ovens used for baking. By the hearth stood the 
high-backed settle and within the fireplace itself 
benches were built for the children. Brass and- 
irons supported the heavy logs and the fire pan 
and bellows stood conveniently near. At bedtime, 
the andirons were drawn aside and the brands and 
coals were covered with ashes in order to keep the 
fire during the long winter night. 

Near by stood the spinning wheel ready for the 
busy hands of the housewife. 

Round tables, rush and flag seat chairs and low 
settees made up the furniture. 

In autumn, the kitchen was adorned with fes- 
toons of dried apples, red peppers, sage, mint, 
savory, seed corn and rows of crook-neck squashes. 

The attic, the cellar and the kitchen were all used 
as storerooms in which to keep herbs and vege- 
tables that would not go into the sheds or barns. 

Across the hall was the ^^best" room. Here often 
stood the guest bed and the chest containing the 
family linen. The special pride of the housewife 
was the corner cupboard. In it were neatly ar- 
ranged a few delicate pieces of china, a silver tea- 
pot and some teaspoons finely wrought, showing 
by their beauty and antiquity that the owner 
claimed genteel ancestry. 

The ceilings of all the rooms were very low. In 
the early Colonial days, the people used oiled paper 
for window panes but later, tiny panes of glass 
were substituted. They told the time by sun-dials 
and hour-glasses. 

The work of the housewife was never finished. 
She made all the clothing for her large family ; she 

12 



made the soap and she made candles for lights. 
All those things which we now buy at the store 
without giving any thought to their production the 
woman herself used to make with a great expendi- 
ture of time and labor. Then there was the baking 
and the cooking and the washing and mending to 
do that falls to the lot of many a busy mother. 
But although she had these tasks to perform, she 
always found time to care for a sick neighbor or to 
welcome guests to her home. 

In those days, the children had to show^ respect 
to their elders. To their parents they never failed 
in respectful obedience. The father taught his sons 
all the work connected with the farm and the 
mother instructed the girls in all branches of 
housework. Very often a little child would begin 
to knit at the early age of four. The girls worked 
samplers and learned many good rules in conduct. 
The boys alone attended school. 

The clothing was very substantial and simple. 
There was so much leather that the women often 
had leather aprons and the men leather shirts. 
The men's suits were of dark cloth with hose of 
dark gray or green wool fastened at the knees. A 
falling band and cuffs of white Holland lightened 
the somber hue of the costume. Their hats were 
made of black felt finished with a narrow band 
of ribbon and small silver buckle. 

The women wore gowns of either purple, gray 
or brown. The apron was of Holland linen. They 
also wore white linen collars and cuffs. For out- 
door wear, my lady donned a kerchief and a little 
hood of dark silk lined with soft silk or fur to 
match her muff. 

13 



The children's dress was like their parents. 

Much of the food was served in the form of 
soups, stews and hashes that could be eaten with 
spoons of wood and pewter. Silver eating uten- 
sils were very rare. For drinking cups hollo wed- 
out gourds were used. The family dined sump- 
tuously on hot corn bread, salt pork, milk, butter, 
cheese, fruit waffles spread generously with maple 
syrup, apple, custard, mince, and pumpkin pies. 
The active outdoor life created a fine appetite and 
an irreproachable digestion. 

The people of Newton have always laid great 
stress on religious education. Every one was sup- 
posed to attend church services. Often the ser- 
vices were very long. Farmers who came from a 
distance brought their lunches and in winter the 
traditional footwarmer to add to their physical 
comfort. 

You ask what your forefather did for good 
times. In winter, there was the singing school 
with the accompanying sleigh ride over the soft 
snow. 

Then there were the husking bees. These husk- 
ing bees were a friendly effort on the part of neigh- 
bors to help out a man who had more husking 
than he could do. 

On a soft autumn moonlit night, the buskers 
would gather in the old barn and by cracking 
many a merry jest and singing rollicking songs 
they would make the husking of the corn seem 
more like play than work. 

We must not forget the w^omen's quilting bees. 
When the women had finished their quilting, they 
invited in the "men folks" to partake of a de- 

14 



licious supper of cold ham, hot biscuit and lus- 
cious preserves. 

The young people played fox and geese, blind 
man's buff and solved conundrums and riddles. 
Then there were the church socials and donations 
which every one enjoyed. 

The children did not have the many amuse- 
ments that you have nowadays. They were forced 
to fall back on their own resources. The boys used 
to play Indian, and the girls would make dolls out 
of corn husks and play house with them in the 
corner of the woodshed. 

The gathering place of the family was the old 
colonial fireplace. Here it was that all the house- 
hold, big and little, would gather on cold winter 
nights to listen to the aged grandfather relate the 
stories of his youth. The busy housewife would 
ply her spindle while the father with the older 
boys w^ould fashion from wood the farm imple- 
ments and the household utensils. Some of the 
younger children would make rush or flag seats 
for the chairs. Clustered about the family hearth, 
they would watch the burning pine-knots and 
imagine all kinds of wonderful pictures in the 
sparkling flames. They ate the mellow rosy ap- 
ples and sweet roasted chestnuts and drank the 
clear brown cider. 

Outside the wind howled through the trees and 
leaped with ferocious glee down the throat of the 
huge chimney. But what cared they for wind or 
weather when secure in the affection of their own 
family. 

The family was preeminent. If guests came, 
they were hospitably received by the family. What- 

15 



ever affected one member of the family affected all. 
They sorrowed together, rejoiced together, worked 
and played together. The family was a miniature 
community bound together by ties of common in- 
terests. The children, taking part in all these 
activities, learned to know and love a real home. 



16 



DRAMATIZATION— THE HUSKING-BEE. 
Characters — 

Jonathan Allen^ in wliose barn the husking bee 
is given. He wears a coat of frieze, leggings and 
woolen jerkins and a coarse felt hat. This is 
the costume for all the men except the school- 
master and parson. 

Isaac Allen^ about 10 years old, ) sons of 

Philip Allen^ about 8 years old, ) Jonathan Allen. 

Peter Pardon^ the schoolmaster. Wears a green 
coat and breeches witJi green hose and buckled 
shoes. 

Anthony Sewall^ the colored servant. 

John Brewster, , , , K . , , ,„ 

Jack Fuller, ^^^^^ ^^^' \ ^'^'^""'^^ ^^ ^"^^ ^^^^- 

Blue Feather, an old Indian wearing a tattered 
blanket and a blue feather thrust through his 
black hair. 

Rosin the Beau, an old man who plays the fiddle. 

Uncle Peter, an old man wiio is very popular be- 
cause of his songs and stories. 

Farmer Brown, neighbor of the Aliens. 

Elisha Winslow, swiftest corn husker in the 
country. 

Job Pettijohn, neighbor of the Aliens. 

Parson Smith, the minister of Newton. 

Tabitha Allen, wife of Jonathan Allen. A bus- 
tling busy woman. Wears a dark gray dress 
with white apron and cuffs and gray cape. This 
is the costume for all the women and girls. 

Penelope Allen, the eldest daughter. Short, 

17 



dark, vivacious. Wears' a cherry-colored ribbon 

in her hair. 
Deborah Allen^ quiet, shy, demure. 
Aunt Mary^ stout, placid, easy-going. Carries a 

basket of sweetmeats for the children. 
RosETTA PERKINS;, the traveling dressmaker. 
Grandmother Allen^ an old lady interested in all 

the affairs of the day. Very deaf. 
Phyllis Alden_, friend of Penelope's. 

Curtain goes up on all present except Rosin the 
Beau, Aunt Mary and Blue Feather. Every one 
is busily engaged in husking corn. Even Grand- 
mother Allen is doing her share. 

Jonathan Allen : (springhig up and pointing 
at the pile of husked corn) Well, my friends, to- 
night you have done a goodly piece of work ! 

Farmer Brown : It's about time we had a little 
fun! 

Every One: (clapping) Uncle Peter! Uncle 
Peter ! 

Uncle Peter: (unconcernedly) Yes? 

Phyllis: A song! 

Uncle Peter: ^'Five Kernels of Corn?" 

Penelope: (eagerly) Yes! Yes! 

Uncle Peter: (clearing his throat and singing 
without any accompaniment) 

" 'Twas the year of tlie famine in Plymouth of old. 
The ice and the snow from the thatched roof had 

rolled, 
Through the warm purple skies steered the geese 
o'er the seas 

18 



And the woodpecker tapped in the clocks of the 

trees. 
And boughs on the slopes to the south wind lay 

bare, 
And dreaming of summer the buds swelled in 

air. 
The pale Pilgrims welcomed each reddening 

morn. 
They were left but for rations, Five Kernels of 

Corn ! 

Five Kernels of Corn! 
Five Kernels of Corn! 
They were left but for rations, Five Kernels of 

Corn !" 

Grandmother Allen : (nodding her head 
toward the pile of husked corn) There's plenty 
here. 

Tabitha : May there always be ! 

Grandmother Allen : (shaking her head sadly) 
It wasn't always so. I can remember when Jona- 
than here was but a lad when we had very little 
to eat. The crops had been killed by wind and 
rain. Then grandfather went out to hunt wild 
turkey, and on his way home he started to cut 
down a big dead tree for the fire. The tree fell on 
him. He never came back. 

Jonathan: There, there, mother! Don't thinlv 
of such things. Have you children ever heard 
how the Indians planted gunpowder? (Glances 
about the group.) No? The Indians used to think 
that powder could be planted the same as corn. 
So they stole some from Jake Brewster's house and 
planted it. When it didn't come up, they were 

19 



angry, and the next time they saw Jake Brewster 
they asked him how the white man got his powder. 

^'Why do you ask?'* 

^'Because we planted it in the ground and it 
didn't grow." 

^'Oho!" laughed Jake. "You stole the powder. 
Powder isn't corn, my friends. It doesn't grow. 
It's made in England !" 

"Umph !" said the Indians. "The ugly laughing 
white man!" And they went off. 

Farmer Brown: That story reminds me of 
"The Wonderful Pitcher." This happened when I 
was a little boy and lived on the other side of New- 
ton by the river. My father and mother were very 
kind good people and no one was ever turned hun- 
gry from their door. 

My father used to give the Indians hard cider to 
drink and that wasn't always good for them. 

One night my mother dreamed that an angel 
came to her and told her never to give the Indians 
any more cider. So she made a firm resolve to 
obey the angel's command. 

That very morning, Rain-in-the-Face, a poor old 
Indian, made his appearance at our door. He had 
a wicker basket over liis arm. 

"Me want old cider." said Rain-in-the-Face. 
"Me drink old cider.'* 

I remember how old he looked in his tattered 
red blanket and scraggly yellow feather. 

"Me drink old cider," he repeated. 

"No, no, old Rain-in-the-Face," said my mother, 
very firmly. "I will not give you any. It is not 
right. You come back on Thanksgiving Day and 
I will give you all the basket will hold." 

20 



^'Of hard cider?" said Rain-in-the-Face, eagerly. 

"Yes, of hard cider.'' 

Rain-in-the-Face laughed to himself and went 
away. 

"Why did you tell him tliat?" asked ray father, 

"That wicker basket won't hold much cider," 
laughed my mother. 

Well, Rain-in-the-Face came with his basket on 
Thanksgiving Day. What do you suppose he had 
done? 

Chorus: What? 

Farmer Brown: (impressively) He had dipped 
the big wicker basket into the water several times 
and it had frozen. The wicker basket had turned 
into an ice basket and it would hold quite a good 
deal of hard cider. 

Sally: Well, what did your mother do then? 

Farmer Brown : For a moment she didn't know 
what to do. 

Then suddenly an idea flashed across her mind. 

"Come in, old Rain-in-the-Face," she said. 
"Come in. It's cold outside." 

Rain-in-the-Face came in. 

"Old cider!" said he, extending the ice basket. 
"It hold plenty of old cider." 

"Come sit by the fire and hear the kettle sing." 

"Yes ! Yes !"' echoed my father. "Hear the kettle 
on Thanksgiving Day." 

Rain-in-the-Face looked uneasy but he did as 
he was bid. He became so much interested in 
listening to the teakettle singing that he did not 
notice that his beautiful ice basket was all melting 
away. Suddenly he looked doAvn and found that 
his basket was nothing but a pool of water. 

21 



Well, Kain-in-the-Face knew he was beaten. So 
my mother filled his wicker basket with some good 
food and he went away. 

Peter Pardon: Fine! By the way, look at De- 
borah working on her sampler! 

Jonathan Allen: Oh, she's always a very in- 
dustrious little girl. Her mother can always de- 
pend upon her to help make the candles and do the 
spinning and the sewing. 

Peter Pardon: {turning to Elisha Winslow) 
See here, Elisha. You're a man of distinction since 
you husked more corn than any one else this even- 
ing. Sing us a song. 

Elisha Winslow: (Sings "There was a jolly 
miller"— page 181— "Songs of England"— Vol. I.) 

"There was a jolly miller once 
Lived on the river Dee. 
He worked and sung from morn till night. 
No lark more blithe than he, 

And this the burden of his song 

Forever used to be, — 

I care for nobody, no, not I, 

If nobody cares for me." 

(They all applaud the singer.) 

Parson Smith : It's lucky more of us are farm- 
ers than millers. 

Jonathan Allen: Anthony! I say, Anthony! 
Bring in the cider and the apples! 

Anthony : Yassir ! Yassir ! (Goes out.) 

Tabitha Allen : Do you remember that story of 
the Little Girl Captive? 

22 



Deborah: (clapping her hands) Tell it, mother! 
Tell it ! 

Tabitha : One day Mercy Young's two little chil- 
dren were playing out by the garden when they saw 
tw^o big beady eyes staring at thera between the 
leaves of tlie underbrush. They screamed and ran 
in to their mother. Their mother told them that 
they had imagined the big beady eyes and told 
them to go back to play. They went back and 
forgot all about what they had seen when they 
w^ere suddenly seized by strong hands. They were 
captured by the Indians! 

The Indians took them away to their village and 
would not let them go home. Oh, how the poor 
children cried! But the Indians said they must 
stay with them. Then one day, ten years after- 
wards, when Mercy, poor sad Mercy, was spinning 
all alone, an. Indian girl came up to the cabin to 
sell baskets. Mercy began to talk to her and she 
discovered that the Indian girl w^as her daughter! 
How glad she was! Mercy asked for her son and 
tlie girl said that the brother had been killed in a 
fight with another tribe of Indians. '^Oh, but I 
have you now," cried Mercy. ^'I will never let 
you go.'' 

And that girl is living today w^itli her mother 
in Cambridge. 

Parson Smith : Penelope, you can sing. 

Penelope : (shyly) Not very well. 

Tabitha: (sternly) Penelope! 

Penelope: (meekly) Yes, ma'am. (Sings "Fly 
away, pretty Moth"— page 58— "Songs of Eng- 
land"— Vol. II.) 



23 



^'Fly away, pretty Moth, to the shade, 
Of the leaf where you slumbered all day. 
Be content with the moon and the stars, pretty 

Moth, 
And make use of your wings while you may." 

Anthony: (breaking iriy his eyes distended with 
terror^ his apples rolling from the basket and the 
pitcher trembling violently in his hand) Oh, Massa! 
Massa ! There sure is somethin' strange goin' round 
here! 

Jonathan: (sternly) What is the trouble, 
Anthony? 

Anthony : The black cat was turnin' round and 
round and her eyes look like a ghost was here. 
(A loud knock at the door.) 

John Brewster: Who's that? (Opens the door. 
Aunt Mary stands there,) 

Jonathan: (laughing) There's your ghost, 
Anthony. 

The Children: (all flocking around Aunt 
Mary^ crying) Aunt Mary! Aunt Mary! 

Tabitha: (in astoyiishment) How'd you get 
here? 

Aunt Mary: (somewhat reproachfully) Why, I 
had Farmer Blake bring me as far as the bridge 
and then I walked up. I heard how you had a 
husking bee and I never miss one. I gave sister 
Cynthia a little bit of motherwort and wintergreen 
and she feels all right, so I came. 

Tabitha: We're glad to see you. Here's a seat 
beside me. (Makes room for her.) 

(Anthony recovers himself and passes out 
the apples and cider.) 

24 



Peter Pardon : What do you tliink happened in 
school the other day? 

RosETTA Perkins: (leaning forward curiously) 
What? 

Peter Pardon : We needed wood for the fire — 
it's pretty chilly these days. I sent Isaac out to 
cut some wood, and after he had been gone some 
time I told Jack Fuller to go out and ''spell" him. 
Jack went out, and pretty soon I heard loud shout- 
ing. I went out, and there I saw Jack on top of 
the woodshed and reading out words from his book 
while Isaac was spelling the words and making the 
wood fly at the same time. 

"I told you to give Isaac a rest !" I said. "Isaac's 
tired out." 

''I'm 'spelling' Isaac," said Jack. "You told me 
to teach him how to spell !" 

(They all laugh.) 

Grandmother Allen : (with her hand at her ear) 
Wliat say? What say? The rye growing fine this 
year? 

Uncle Peter : That reminds me. (Keeping time 
with his sticky he sings.) 

"The corn is golden yellow. 

The wheat grows tall and high, 
The barley and the waving oats. 
But there's nothing like the rye. 

Wlien the bloom is on the rye, oh, 
When the bloom is on the rye; 

There's nothing like it — no, I'm sure, 
When the bloom is on the rye." 

(Strains of a violin sound outside.) 
25 



Philip: (jumping up delightedly) Oh, there's 
Rosin. 

(Rosin enters^ playing ^^ Money Musk/^) 

(When he finisheSy they all clap.) 

Jonathan : Why, Rosin, we thought you weren't 
coming. 

Rosin: (shaking his head decidedly) I wouldn't 
miss a husking bee. 

RoSETTA Perkins: (leaning forward) What do 
you think! Eliza Green was ducked in the river 
last week for scolding her poor husband! She 
screamed when they tied her in the ducking chair 
but it didn't make any difference. And her little 
boy Johnnie has been put four times in the stocks 
this last month for telling falsehoods! 

Aunt Mary : Do you think that is worse, Rosetta 
Perkins, than to go to sleep right in church and 
have your nose tickled by the tithing man as you 
did one Sunday? 

(They all look at Rosetta and laugh.) 

Uncle Peter : Did I ever tell you how my father 
wrestled with an Indian? 

(They all shake their heads.) 

Uncle Peter : (clearing his throat impressively) 
My father was the greatest wrestler of his time. 
He was big and strong. 

One day when he was cutting down a tree near 
the edge of the forest, suddenly he was confronted 
by a tall Indian. My father had never seen him 
before. 

26 



^'You big fighter?-' asked the Indian. "Me hear 
yoii big fighter. Me big fighter too. Me fight 
you.'' 

My father's heart was in his mouth. He knew 
that if he wrestled with the Indian and the Indian 
threw him^ the Indian would kill him. He 
couldn't get away, either. 

Well, he gritted his teeth and made up his mind 
to beat that Indian. For a long time they wrestled. 
My father became very tired. He thought he would 
never throw that Indian. 

At last, the Indian fell and lay flat on the ground. 

My father could scarcely believe his eyes. 

The Indian rose up very slowly and said: "You 
big fighter! Me big fighter! You bigger fighter 
than me ! Ugh !" 

And he disappeared into the forest. 

My father never saw him again. 

(A dark figure lurks in the doorway.) 

Tabitha: (nervously) Who's that? 

Blue Feather: (timidly) Blue Feather. Blue 
Feather smell good smells and hear good noises. 

Jonathan : Why, come on in. Blue Feather. 
Don't stand out there in the cold. 

(Blue Feather comes slowly in.) 

(Penelope gives him a doughnut and a cup of 
cider. ) 

Peter Pardon : (begins to sing. Rosin the Beau 
softly accompanying him with his fiddle) 

"In the chimney place near the roaring fire 
Stands a treasure most rich and rare: 

27 



It's battered and worn; it's marked with the 
years ; 
It's my grandmother's old rocking chair. 

Oh, the years may come and the years may go, 

Some joyous, some full of care. 
I shall always remember — I ne'er can forget — 

My grandmother's old rocking chair." 

(Every one applauds with great enthusiasm.) 
(Rosin the Beau strikes up a lively tune.) 

Elisha Winslow: (springs to his feet and he- 
gins to clog; sings to the tune of ^'Killarney over 
therer) 

"Oh ! potatoes they grow small 
Over there ! Over there ! 
Oh! potatoes they grow small 

Over there ! Over there ! 
Oh ! potatoes they grow small 
'Cause they plant 'em in the fall 
And they eats 'em top and all 
Over there! 

Oh ! I wish I was a geese 

All forlorn ! All forlorn ! 
Oh ! I wish I was a geese 

All forlorn! All forlorn! 
Oh ! I wish I was a geese 
'Cause they lives and dies in peace 
And accumulates much grease — 
Eating corn ! 

28 



Oh ! they had a clam pie 

Over there ! Over there ! 
Oh ! they had a clam pie 

Over there ! Over there ! 
Oh ! they had a clam pie 
And the crust was made of rye. 
You must eat it or must die, 
Over there!" 

Job : Come on, everybody. We'll have a Virginia 
Reel. Gentlemen, choose your partners. 

(Every one dances except Grandmother Allen 
and Blue Feather^ icJio watch ivith much in- 
terest.) 

(To the merry strains of the fiddle and gay 
laughter, the curtain goes down.) 



29 



SCHOOL. 

Did you ever stop to wonder how your fore- 
fathers were educated? 

In those early days of Newton, the first school 
was erected north of Institution Hill near Joseph 
Bartlett's home in what is now known as Newton 
Centre. Abraham Jackson, son of John Jackson, 
gave to the town one acre of land for the school 
grounds. John Staples was the first schoolmaster. 
Other schoolhouses soon sprang into existence, for 
New England laid great emphasis on learning and 
education. 

Picture to yourself the old-fashioned school- 
house. There it stood in the fragrant meadows, its 
bark roof higher on one side and its square shape 
clearly outlined against the blue sky. A beaten 
footpath meandered up to the door. 

There was just one main room which was six- 
teen feet long and fourteen feet wide. Here all the 
classes were held. The seats were hard, backless 
benches. How the poor children's shoulders must 
have ached! The master with a goose quill stuck 
behind his ear sat behind a high narrow desk 
where he could sternly survey his flock. 

The floor was uneven, the walls were roughly 
plastered and on one side of the room was the 
glowing fireplace. 

In those days, the chief subjects of education 
were reading, writing and arithmetic. Above all 
things, the schoolmaster must be a good penman. 
The copy books were made of foolscap paper sewed 

30 



into book shape and ruled by hand. Sometimes, 
when paper was scarce, they wrote on birch bark. 
For pens, they used the goose quill with the feath- 
ers left in the handle. Oh, how carefully and well 
our forefathers wrote ! It makes us ashamed when 
we look at some of our careless, slovenly penman- 
ship. The study of geography was considered not 
as an essential but as an accomplishment. 

Even after the schools had been some time es- 
tablished, the girls did not attend. Indeed it was 
deemed unwise to burden the feminine mind with 
^'book education." Even the minister looked 
askance at ^'learned women." They argued that 
intense mental application would injure their deli- 
cate brains and urged them to look well to the ways 
of their household, which was woman's divinely 
appointed sphere. 

Little children attended dame schools. These 
dame schools were conducted by old women who 
were often very ignorant. The pupils learned their 
letters from a hornbook. This hornbook was made 
by placing a thin piece of wood behind a sheet of 
printed paper and over the paper putting a piece 
of horn so thin that the letters were easily read. 

In those days, discipline was exceedingly strict 
and severe. The birch rod was much in evidence. 
Every one thoroughly believed in the old saying, 
"Spare the rod and spoil the child." 

The schoolmaster led a roaming life. He would 
spend two or three weeks at one home and then 
he would go on to another. This was called "board- 
ing round." You can imagine with what care the 
good housewives prepared for the schoolmaster's 
visit. The family pewter was proudly brought 

31 



forth, the table boasted wonderful pies and cakes 
and puddings, and the best bedroom, seldom used, 
was made ready for the illustrious guest. 

The pay of the teacher was often very meager. 
Sometimes he was not recompensed in money at 
all, but in wood, apples, corn and the like. The 
fathers of the children furnished the large logs 
for the fireplace in payment for their children's 
tuition. 

The crowning episode of the school year was the 
final examination day when the selectmen and the 
parents visited the school to see just w^hat the 
scholars had accomplished during the year's work. 

The schools were not as well equipped as they 
are nowadays. The manner of learning was often 
harsh and forbidding. But in the memory of some 
old man there often lingered a far-off dream of a 
small boy in the old-fashioned school sitting by 
the open window, listening to the drowsy drone 
of the bumble-bee as he hummed from flower to 
flower, and idly watching the fleecy clouds drift 
by in the blue sky. 

Although we have now an elaborate system of 
education, I doubt if we know as much about the 
real experiences of life as did our forefathers who 
reflected and meditated on the few things they 
had to such a degree that the wisdom derived be- 
came a part of their very being. 



32 



DRAMATIZATION— AN OLD-TIME NEWTON 
SCHOOL. 

Characters (all dressed in Colonial costimies) — 

Stephen Ray^ the schoolmaster. A tall man. Wears 
a wig. 

Thomas Parker^ shorty fat boy. 

Joe Tucker^ mischievous and boastful. 

Edward Cook^ slight and fair. 

Nathaniel Hall. 

Abraham Bacon. 

Jonathan Brown. 

Tim and Tom Brown^ only members of the pri- 
mary class. 

Parson Smith^ the visitor at the school. 

Five Indians^ including an Indian boy. They are 
all painted and decked with feathers and carry 
tomahawks. 

Opening scene in the schoolroom before school. 
The boys are gathered together talking. The mas- 
ter has just stepped out. Behind his desk hangs a 
birch rod. A pile of neatly arranged copy books 
and an hour glass are on his desk. 

Joe Tucker : (courageously) No, sir. I wouldn't 
be afraid if I saw a whole tribe of Indians right 
this minute! 

Edward : (incredulously) Not after they chased 
Sam Felter and nearly killed him? 

Joe : No, sir. I'd fight. I can figlit any one. 

Thomas: You can fight, but you couldn't whip 

33 



Master Ray as you did the last teacher. That last 
teacher was easy. When he boarded at our house, 
my mother told him so. She's always saying, 
^'Spare the rod and spoil the child.'' 

Stephen Ray: (coming in and rapping firmly 
on his desk ivith his ruler) Boys, take your seats! 
(The hoys obey.) 

Abraham Bacon: (raising his harid) Mr. Ray? 

Stephen Ray : Yes, Abraham. 

Abraham: Joe says that if a tribe of Indians 
came here this very minute, he'd fight 'em. 

Stephen Ray: (smiling indulgently) 'Tride 
goeth before a fall." Take out your pens. Thomas, 
pass out the copy books. 

(Thomas does so.) 

(A loud knock sounds at the door. The 
Schoolmaster looks startled for a moment, 
settles his wig and arranges his collar.) 
Schoolmaster: Open the door, Edward. 

(Edward opens the door and reveals Parson 
Smith. ) 

Joe: (ifi an awed whisper) It's Parson Smith 
come to visit the school. 

Schoolmaster: (coming down and greeting his 
guest) GoocZ-morning, Mr. Smith ! Step in ! Step 
in! 

Parson Smith : I was riding by, so I thought I'd 
stop a minute to see how you are getting along. 

Stephen Ray : That's right. Take a seat. 

(The Parson sits down.) 

Stephen Rx\y: We were just about to begin 
writing. 

34 



Parson Smith : (impressively) Good penman- 
ship is the thing that should be most emphasized 
in tlie school. Just think how ignorant some peo- 
ple are. They can only make their marks! 

Stephen Ray: (politehj) Won't you look at 
some of them? 

Parson Smith: Certainly. (Goes down the rows 
of seatSy looks over the shoulders of the hoys and 
reads in a loud voice) ''Resignation is good for the 
soul." Um — Edward. Very fine writing, indeed! 
(Looks at Joe's and reads) ''Good penmanship is an 
art not to be despised." That is very true. 

Stephen Ray: You might like to hear a recita- 
tion. Edward, give yours. 

Edward: (Goes up to the front ^ hows ahritptly 
and hegins.) 

"The boy that is good 

Does mind his book well — 
And if he can't speak, 
He will strive for to spell. 

His school he does love, 

And when he is there. 
For play and for fun 

No time can he spare." 

Parson Smith : (ruhhing his hands in apprecia- 
tion) Very good. Now I want to ask a question. 
Who is the bravest boy here? 

(Thomas Parker raises his hand. The others 
all look at Joe.) 

Parson Smith: Well, Thomas? 
Thomas: Joe is. 

35 



Parson Smith: Why? 

Thomas : Because he says he*d fight if a tribe of 
Indians came up. 

Parson Smith: (smiling) Is that so? 
Schoolmaster: Jonathan, your recitation! 

^'How proud we are I how fond to show 
Our clothes and call them rich and new ! 
When the poor sheep and silkworm wore 
That very clothing long before. 

The tulip and the butterfly 

Appear in gayer coats than I. 

Let me be drest fine as I will 

Flies, worms and flowers exceed me still. 

Then Avill I set my heart to find 
Inward adornings of the mind. 
Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace — 
These are the roles of richest dress." 

Nathaniel: (glancing at the window ayid jump- 
ing up excitedly) They're coming! They're 
coming ! 

SctiooLMASTER : (severely) What do you mean? 

Nathaniel: The Indians! 

(They all look out for one breathless moment.) 

Schoolmaster : Be quiet ! (The ferule trembles 
in his hand.) 

(They sit in tense silence.) 

Parson Smith: Maybe they'll go by. 

(The door opens slowly and reveals a dark face.) 

36 



Stephen Ray: (harshly) What do you want? 

(The door opens wider and the five Indians 
including a boy can he seen.) 

Leader of Indians : (insistently pushing the door 
hack as far as it will go) We come see school. 
We come see how white man learn. (He comes in 
and the others follow. They calmly survey the ter- 
rified hoys and then squat down on the floor in one 
stolid row.) 

Nathaniel: (in a loud whisper to Joe) Fight, 
Joe, fight! 

Joe : Fight yourself. 

(The Schoolmaster is evidently nervous for 
the Indians are painted^ hcfeathered and carry 
tomahawks. He turns his hack and vohile the 
attention of the Indians is engaged on the 
teacher, Joe slij)s out the ivindow. The other 
hoys appear too paralyzed with fright to move.) 

Parson Smith: (ifi a loud whisper to the 
Schoolmaster^ Don't let them know we're afraid. 
Go on with the lessons. 

Schoolmaster : (trying to he calm) Perhaps, Mr. 
Smith, you would ask the primary class some ques- 
tions in number work? 

Parson Smith : Let me see. (Thinks a moment.) 
How many hands has a boy? You, Tim. 

Tim : (stammering) Two — two, sir. 

(The leader nudges the Indian boy and jah- 
hers something to him.) 

Parson Smith: If a boy works three days a 
week, how many days has he left, Tom? 

37 



Tom: (also stammering) Four, sir. Four. 
(The Indians all stare stolidly at each new 
speaker.) 

Stephen Ray: Now the spelling. How do yon 
spell cucumber? 

Abraham: (tremhling with fright) C-u-c-u-m- 

b-e-r. 

[The Schoolmaster looks at Jonathan.) 

Jonathan: (hursting out) Not I, sir. Not I. 
(The Indians stare at him.) 

Schoolmaster: (suddenly) Where's Joe? 
(A dead silence follows.) 

Schoolmaster : (nervously) Thomas, begin 
reading and pass the book along. 

Thomas: ''He that will not help himself, shall 
have help from nobody." (Passes the hook to Ed- 
ward Cook. Edward reads.) 

''As a wagoner was driving his team, his wagon 
sank into a hole and stuck fast." (Hands the hook 
to Jonathan. Jonathan reads.) 

''The poor man immediately fell upon his knees 
and prayed to Hercules that" — (Hands the hook to 
Nathaniel. Nathaniel reads.) 

" — he would get his wagon out of the hole again." 
(Gives the hook to Abraham. Abraham reads.) 

"Thou fool," said Hercules, "whip thy horses 
and set thy shoulder to the wheel and then if thou 
wilt call upon Hercules, he will help thee." 

Second Indian: (rolling his eyes and gesticu- 
lating) Ugh I Ugh! Great Spirit. 

Schoolmaster: (evidently very nervous) We 

38 



have introduced a little geography — as an accom- 
plishment, yon know. 

(Parson Smith nods approvingly.) 

Stephen Ray : Well, Abraliam, tell us what you 
know about Massachusetts. 

Abraham : (in a loud voice^ evidently endeavor- 
ing to conceal his fear) The people of this State are 
industrious and sagacious. Tliey are generous and 
liospitable to strangers and they are good neigh- 
bors. The changes of weather are great and fre- 
quently sudden. On the whole, it appears that the 
climate is a compound of most of the climates of 
the world. (Pauses breathless.) 

Second Indian: (nodding and shaking his head) 
Heap big white maul Him big chief! (Looks at 
the others. They all shake their heads with grave 
solemnity.) 

(A tense pause follotvs. Finally the leader of 
the Indians gets upy the others also rise.) 

Leader of Indians: (pushing the Indian lad 
forward) He red child. He learn from the stars 
(points upivard) and from the wind in the willows. 
He not learn like white child. (Shakes his head in 
disgust and they slowly file out. Stephen Ray 
closes the door after them.) 

Parson Smith : (drawing a deep sigh of relief) 
I'm sure you never had such visitors ! 

Stephen Ray : (emphatically) I should say not ! 
But where is Joe? 

(Joe^s head appears above the outside of the 
windotv and in a faint voice replies.) 

Here I am. 

39 



Abraham : (starting) And he was going to fight 
Indians ! 

(They all laugh uproariously.) 

Stephen Ray: Well, come on in, Joe. You 
weren't the only one frightened this time. (Joe 
jumps over the casing.) I'm sure we never had a 
family of Indians visit our school before. 

CURTAIN. 



40 



JOHN ELIOT'S CONNECTION WITH 
NEWTON. 

The seal of the city of Newton stamps upon all 
official documents the most dramatic and pictur- 
esque event in Newton's history, — the first gather- 
ing of the Indians under Chief Waban to listen 
to the preaching of John Eliot. 

The historic picture thus brought to mind is that 
of a group of dusky Indians standing under a 
grand old oak with their faces turned towards the 
noble figure of the white man who is speaking to 
them. 

As this picture is stamped indelibl}^ upon all 
important city documents, so is the figure of John 
Eliot stamped upon the somber background of the 
story of the . relations of the colonists with the 
Red Men. 

This noble and scholarly man came to the New 
World fired with a zeal that enabled him to over- 
come the tremendous difficulties in translating the 
entire Bible into the Indian language, and that 
caused him to carry on successfully his work of 
Christianizing and civilizing these Red Men of the 
forest. Though filled with his great idea, he waited 
fifteen years, preaching faithfully during this time 
to his congregation in Roxbury, before he ventured 
to preach to the Indians. During this time In- 
dian interpreters taught him the Indian language, 
and he visited the Indian camps, studying their 
customs and learning their ways so that he might 
know just how to deliver his great message. 

At last, he felt that the day had arrived when he 

41 



•might speak. He gathered together a little group 
of Indians at Dorchester Mills and preached to 
them. But the Red Men paid little heed to the 
great teacher. They cast glowering glances at him 
and occasionally an old chief would hiss with 
contempt. 

No one could call that meeting a success. Even 
John Eliot who was always hopeful felt somewhat 
discouraged. But after a time he decided to have 
another meeting with the Indians. In the autumn 
of 1646 a herald went through the land, proclaim- 
ing far and wide that on the twenty-eighth of 
October, the Reverend John Eliot would preach 
again to the Indians, this time at Nonantum. Mr. 
Eliot was anxious about the results of this meet- 
ing, but with three companions he proceeded 
bravely to Nonantum, determined to carry out his 
great idea of helping the Red Men. 

Imagine his surprise and pleasure when he saw 
a great crowd of Indians eagerly awaiting his ar- 
rival. When they caught sight of him, they nodded 
their heads to show their approval. In the midst 
of this multitude John Eliot took his place. Let 
us imagine the sight that met his eyes! A large 
number of Red Men adorned with plumes and 
feathers, squaws decorated with beads and rings, 
and the little children gathered around to hear the 
white man preach. Near by in the doorway of his 
tent sat the chief Waban, gazing down upon his 
people with paternal pride. Above spread the clear 
blue sky of an autumn day, while the trees, stripped 
of their leaves, stood round like faithful sentinels. 

When John Eliot began to speak all became 
silent. 

42 



He had chosen for his text the ninth verse from 
the thirty-seventh chapter of Ezekiel : 'Trophesy! 
unto the wind, prophesy, son of man! And say to 
the wind, Thus saith the Lord God, Come from the 
four winds, O breath; and breathe upon these 
slain, that they may live !" 

Spellbound the Indians listened to his words. 
They hung upon his words as he explained the Ten 
Commandments. He said that God was not 
pleased witli them for fighting each other, but if 
they would repent and try to do better, God would 
forgive them and receive them as his children. 

Finally he ceased speaking. Not a sound had 
been made by the Indians during the entire ser- 
mon. Mr. Eliot asked them if they knew what he 
had said. With one mighty shout they showed 
that they had understood. 

When John Eliot heard this great response, he 
lifted up his heart in thanks to God for now he 
knew that his life's mission had begun. 

After this meeting at Nonantum, John Eliot 
preached very often to the Indians. Little groups 
and large gatherings equally welcomed his pres- 
ence. These simple children of the wilderness be- 
came so deeply interested in the new religion that 
they used to ask all kinds of questions. At one of 
the meetings, a tottering man, bent with age, hob- 
bled forward and inquired in a quavering voice if 
he were too old to be saved. 

You can see what a great work John Eliot was 
doing when you read that a great many Indians 
became converted to Christianity. People called 
them 'Traying Indians.'' No longer did these 
Indians, painted with horrible colors and wildly 

43 



brandishing the tomahawk, follow the war path. 
They forsook their cruel and barbarous ways 
and settled down to peaceful contented lives. So 
eager were they to learn the white man's ways that 
they begged John Eliot for teachers and schools. 

Many influential white men supported this great 
work. Even the people across the sea in England 
sent over money to help educate the Indians. 

John Eliot was a very wise man and firmly be- 
lieved that civilization should go hand in hand 
with Christianity. He thought that the Indians 
should be taught the old homely virtues. He often 
quoted that saying which perhaps you have heard 
your own mothers repeat: "Cleanliness is next to 
Godliness." He also planned to teach the Indians 
to work, and as a beginning, he suggested that 
they build a town at Nonantum. 

Such a large number of Indians flocked to this 
place that there was not room for them all. So 
they settled at Natick. Here John Eliot helped 
them lay out a little village with streets and or- 
chards and vineyards. They even built a strong 
bridge over the river and they fashioned a rough 
fort from the trunks of numerous trees. 

How the effects of his influence grew ! The men 
learned to till the soil and plant their crops while 
the women spun and wove cloth to make warm gar- 
ments for their families. All the time they at- 
tended the schools, studying hard to learn as much 
as they could about the new language and the new 
religion. 

John Eliot thought that the young Indians 
should be trained to lead their own people. So he 
educated several of them for the ministry. Finally, 

44 



after years oi* waiting, the first Indian church was 
established at Natick. 

The work of John Eliot did not end with the 
civilizing of the Indians. As has been said, he 
translated the entire Bible into the Indian language. 
You can well imagine that this was a most difficult 
task, because the Indian language is so very 
meager. John Eliot had to borrow from our own 
language many words such as ^'testament," ^'book" 
and '^Christ." This translation is considered a 
most prodigious piece of work, and the few copies 
that are now in existence are among tlie most in- 
teresting relics of the Colonial period. One of 
them is now in the Old South Church on Washinsr- 
ton Street, Boston. 

How the Indians loved and respected John 
Eliot! During all the years that he went among 
them, he was never harmed, but w^as always wel- 
come wiierever he w^ent for they looked upon him 
as one sent by God to lead them along the right 
way. This noble man will always be remembered 
everywhere as the great Apostle of the Indians. 

His son became the first pastor of the First 
Church in Newton and is buried in the old ceme- 
tery on Center Street. A famous Newton church 
and several streets have been given the name of 
Eliot and while John Eliot is famous throughout 
the world the city of Newton will always speak the 
name with especial pride and reverence. 

On the southern slope of Nonantum Hill in New- 
ton stands the Eliot Memorial on wiiich is written 
tlie following inscription, — 



45 



"Here at Nonantum, October 28, 1646, in 
Waban's Wigwam, near this spot, John 
Eliot began to preach the Gospel to the In- 
dians. Here was founded the first Chris- 
tian community of Indians within the 
English colonies." 



46 



DRAMATIZATION— JOHN ELIOT PREACH- 
ING TO THE INDIANS. 

Characters — 

Waban^ the dignified Indian Chief. His feathers 
and blanket should be more conspicuous than 
the others in order that he may be readily rec- 
ognized as the leader. 

Red Feather^ messenger. A bright red feather 
thrust through his hair. 

Running Bird_, messenger. 

Big Eagle^ 

Little Snake (a snake's skin 
wound loosely around his neck), 

White Horse (a string of white [Indian 
feathers around his neck), [performers. 

Bear Ghost^ 

Wolf Plume_, 

Fleet Foot^ 

Fire Eyes^ medicine man. Clad in a buffalo robe 
whitened with chalk and ornamented with hiero- 
glyphic symbols. 

Yellow Moon^ an old man who sits in a humped 
and dejected position. His blanket is worn and 
tattered. 

Red Cloud. 

Gray Owl^ reflective, grave Indian. Sits some- 
what apart from the rest. 

Little Fern^ Indian mother with an Indian doll 
swung over her shoulder to represent a real 
infant. 

47 



Flower op the Wigwam, a very pretty young In- 
dian girl. 

Blue Bird, a little Indian girl. Blue feathers in 
her hair and a string of blue beads around her 
neck. 

Meadow Lark, Indian woman. 

Yeij:.ow Dawn, Indian woman. 

Waving Willow, slender girl. 

South Wind, Indian woman. 

John Eliot, wearing an English dress coat, small 
clothes, long boots and broad-brimmed hat. 

Daniel Gookin, dressed as John Eliot. 

Edward Jackson, dressed as John Eliot. 

George Devin, dressed as John Eliot. 

Time— October 28, 1646. 

Scene opens at Nonantum, Mass., on the hillside 
near the wigwam of the chief Waban. Logs and 
branches of trees may be arranged so that the 
scene may appear as realistic as possible. 

The curtain rises to the tremolo of the drum. 
The Indians are all grouped in a circle with their 
faces turned expectantly toward the left. Waban 
sits in the doorway of his tent. 

(Red Feather and Running Bird dashing in 
breathlessly at the left.) 

Red Feather : The great white man is here ! 
(Waban rises and walks down in the middle 
of the circle.) 

Waban: Conduct him hither! 

(The two messengers turn and disappear. The 

48 



tremolo grows a little louder. The Indians 
remain perfectly still. Preseyitly John Eliot 
appears, escorted hy Red Feather and Run- 
ning Bird. His three English companions 
follow. A low murmur of approval runs 
through the Indian audience.) 

(Waban advancing toward John Eliot.) 

Waban : 

Oh, great wliite man, who comes thus far 

Across the sea so gray and cold. 
We welcome you and wait to hear 

The message that tliou wouldst unfold. 

As chief I welcome you here now. 

Oh, may our friendship never cease. 
To you we give the kindly hand, 

To you we give the pipe of i^eace. 

John Eliot: (insihly affected) God's blessing 
be upon you and all your people, great chief of the 
Nonantum tribe. 

Waban : May the Great Spirit breathe peace 
upon you. 

(Waban gives a slight signal, John Eliot and 
his companions seat themselves and the six 
Indian performers tvhile sitting on the ground 
turn so that the first and second Indians, the 
third and fourth, and the fifth and sixth face 
each other. To the very soft piano music of 
the Omaha Tribal Prayer, the performers act 
out the folloiving in pantomime: 

With folded arms, each Indian inclines very 

49 



slowly toward the person facing him, bending 
twice to each measure. Then the couples hend 
to the left eight times and then to the right 
eight times. The entire performance should 
he very slow and solemn.) 
(Waban rises and turns to John Eliot.) 

Waban : 

How often in the early morn 

I've listened to the wind's soft breath, 
And while I watched the bright stars fade 

I've pondered much on Life and Death. 

The bird flits far across the sky, 

She streaks her way in eager flight. 

I see the black speck grow more dim, 
The bird has flown into the night! 

Oh, thus is Life! Oh, thus is Death! 

Old Age comes trembling after Youth. 
We've asked our questions all in vain — 

Explain to us the hidden truth. 

(Sits down. The Indians nod their approval.) 

John Eliot: (rises, and the eyes of every one 
present are turned toward him. Holds up his 
Bible) In answer to your many questions and 
longings I bring you good tidings of great joy ! 

Waban: Speak, Messenger of the Great Spirit! 
(Seats himself where he can catch every tvord.) 

John Eliot : (slowly opens the Bible and reads) 
'Trophesy! unto the wind, prophesy, son of man! 
And say to the wind. Thus saith the Lord God, 

50 



Come from the four winds, O breath; and breathe 
upon these slain, that they may live !" 

(John Eliot pauses. The Indians sit as if 
spellbound.) 

John Eliot : I bring to you a great message. A 
message that will set you free. I bring you great 
hope. The Great Spirit sent me to you and I speak 
the words that the Great Spirit has spoken to me. 

Yellow Moon : (who sits on the front row, rises 
ayid takes a tottering step forward. He looks im- 
ploringly at John Eliot) Oh, great white man, 
Old Age has brushed me with his withered plume. 
Like the bird, I will soon go out into the dark- 
ness. Tell me, am I too old to understand? 

John Eliot : None are too old to understand. 

Yellow Moon: (sinking hack into his seat with 
a sigh of relief) Ah ! That is good. 

Little Fern: (holding up the little Indian 
papoose so that John Eliot can see it) And this — 
little one? 

John Eliot : ''Suffer little children to come unto 
me and forbid them not, for of such is the king- 
dom of heaven." 

Little Fern: (smiling happily) The Great 
Spirit is very good. 
(Flower of the Wigwam slips shyly forward.) 

John Eliot: What is it. Flower of the Wig- 
wam? What question do you wish to ask? 

Flower of the Wigwam : (evidently confused) 
Oh, none. I only wanted to give the great white 
man this little present. 

(She shyly extends a string of heads to John 
Eliot and then slips hack into her place.) 

51 



John Eliot : Little Flower of the Wigwam, thy 
gift bespeaks to me an open heart and an open 
mind. 

Wolf Plume: (suddenly pointing upward) See 
yonder cloud? 

John Eliot : (glancing upivard) Yes. 

Wolf Plume : (in an agitated voice) See, it 
sinks right over my head. The cloud is turning 
gray. The Great Spirit is angry! A trouble will 
come upon me I (He trembles violently.) 

John Eliot: (quickly) The cloud looks gray to 
you, Oh Wolf Plume. But see! It is really soft 
and shining. The Great Spirit smiles upon you. 
It is His blessing ! 

Wolf Plume: (earnestly) Is that true? 

John Eliot : (ivith conviction) It is true. 

(Wolf Plume settles hack satisfied.) 

White Horse: (pointing proudly to the feathers 
around his neck) Wolf Plume should have white 
feathers if he is afraid. They protect me from the 
evil spirits that glare out at me in the darkness. 

John Eliot : It is the Great Spirit who protects 
you. 

Fire Eyes: (jumping up impetuously) Oh, great 
white man, I, above all, know the magic of the 
white feather. I cannot understand all your Eng- 
lish talk, but I understand the white feather. Not 
many moons ago. Waving Willow here fell sick 
with a fever. Day and night she moaned and 
would not cease. They sent for me. I waved the 
white feather over her head, I sang the song of the 
ghost and she went to sleep. It was the white 
feather that cured her. The white feather! 

52 



John Eliot : Was it not the Great Spirit in the 
white feather, Fire Eyes, that cured Willow? 

Willow: It was the white feather! 

John Eliot: Your Great Spirit and my Great 
Spirit are the same. The Great Spirit speaks in 
the wind, shines in the stars and blossoms in the 
flowers. He was in the white feather ! 

(Fire Eyes shakes his head wonderingjy.) 

Owl: (rising slowly and deliberately ) The sun 
is looking at us through the trees. Every day the 
sun comes out of the east and travels to the west 
and is never weary. All the animals, all the birds, 
all the fish, all the growing plants turn to him for 
warmth and light. Is your Great Spirit as power- 
ful as the Sun? 

John Eliot: Yes, and even more, for at His 
command the Sun himself would stand still in the 
heavens ! 

Owl: (reflectively) He must be very wonderful. 

Ked Cloud: (eagerly) I know! I know! The 
stars are the eyes of the Great Spirit and the sigh- 
ing in the pines is his voice. I know, for the forest 
and the prairie have told me. I know! 

John Eliot: Yes, Red Cloud, you have heard 
his voice. You have understood his words. 

(A pause.) 

Waban: (rising) Oh, great white man, your 
words have fallen like rain on thirsty fields. (The 
Indians gaze intently at John Eliot.) Give us 
more! Give us more, that we may understand. 

John Eliot: The Great Spirit calls me yonder 
now to speak to his white people. Another day I 
will return to you. 

53 



Waban: (earnestly) Soon! Soon! For my peo- 
ple hang anxiously upon your words. 

John Eliot: Yes. (Nods to his companions.) 
Farewell, Waban. May the blessing of the Great 
Father of all rest upon you and all your people.^' 

(The curtain slowly descends to the tune of 
"^The Gift of Peace: ^ The actors remain im- 
movable^ giving a final picture of John Eliot 
preaching to the Indians.) 

John Eliot : (reverently) Now, Father, I thank 
Thee that at last the day has come when Thou 
hast used me to bring to Thy Indian children a 
knowledge of Thee. 



54 



THE JACKSON HOMESTEAD. A STATION 
OF THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD. 

^^ Somewhat back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country seat. 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw; 
And from its station in the hall 
An ancient timepiece says to all, 
^Forever — never ! 
Never — forever !' " 

On Washington Street, half way between New- 
tonville and Newton, stands the old Jackson home- 
stead. It is one of the most historic spots of New- 
ton, for about the time slavery was creating such 
bitter dissension between the North and the South, 
this house served as one of the many stations of the 
far-famed underground railroad of the time of 
the Civil War. 

A low white swinging gate opens on to a 
narrow path bordered with old-fashioned flowers. 
On the sunny doorstep dozes a yellow cat and from 
the high old windows peep scarlet geraniums. Can 
you imagine that this peaceful homestead was once 
the harboring place of fleeing terror-stricken 
slaves? 

You will ask what the underground railroad 
was. Now the "railroad" wasn't underground at 
all. Slave owners gave it that name because the 
escape of their slaves was shrouded with so much 
mystery. They could track the fugitives as far as 

55 



a border city, but from there on they were com- 
pletely lost. Consequently the bewildered pur- 
suers declared that there must be an underground 
railroad. 

The "railroad" extended from the South to the 
free States and to Canada. The "stations" were 
homes of abolitionists who aided the slaves to es- 
cape. This railroad stretched from Kentucky and 
Virginia across Ohio and from Maryland through 
Pennsylvania, New York and New England to 
Canada. Moreover, the territory of the Middle 
States and all the Western States east of the Mis- 
sissippi were dotted with stations. So you can 
readily see liow extensive was this system for aid- 
ing slaves to freedom. It was no formal organiza- 
tion with regular membership and officers of dif- 
ferent ranks. These terms were used by the 
friends of the slaves merely to mystify the public 
mind. 

The penalty for harboring or assisting a run- 
away slave to escape was very severe, so the men 
who did this were forced to be most secretive and 
cautious. The abolitionists were very severely 
criticised and abused. Sometimes they were even 
expelled from church. 

The network of routes formed intricate and zig- 
zag routes of escape. In their flight for freedom, 
the fugitives were guided by the steady rays of the 
North Star, for night was the safest time for them 
to travel. After they had fought their way 
through swamps, underbrush and over mountains, 
they finally would arrive at a "station." The fam- 
ily could readily recognize the light nervous rap- 
ping of the runaway slaves. They were quickly ad- 

56 



mitted, cared for and secreted until it was time 
for them to resume tlieir long perilous journey. 
Oftentimes, the abolitionist concealed slaves in a 
covered wagon and carried them from one station 
to another. One man had a w^oodpile with a room 
in the center for tlie hiding place. Another put 
them in the belfry of a high church. 

Often disguises were assumed. A certain Quaker 
kept a quantity of garden tools on hand for this 
purpose. He would give the negro a sc^^the or a 
rake to carry through the town. Having reached 
a certain bridge on the way to the next station, 
the pretending laborer would hide his tool under it 
and journey on. Then some one returning would 
carry it back. Many a mulatto concealed his iden- 
tity by blackening his face and hands with burnt 
cork. Among the Quakers a woman's costume was 
a favorite disguise for fugitives. 

Many people of prominence admitted tlieir dis- 
regard for the Fugitive Slave Law. There was 
Theodore Parker, a famous theologian of Boston, 
who publicly denounced this law. Then Harriet 
Beecher Stow^e wrote ^'Uncle Tom's Cabin," a book 
that aroused the indignation of the entire North. 
The story of Eliza crossing the river on cakes of 
ice is absolutely true. 

As has been said, the old Jackson homestead in 
Newton w^as one of the stations of the underground 
railroad. Many times, Mr. Jackson went out witli 
a covered wagon and returned, carrying with him 
slaves who were seeking freedom. There was a 
place in the cellar wiiere they could be carefully 
concealed. There was also a well in this cellar 
and when tlie i)ursuers were very near, the slaves 

57 



got into the buckets, were lowered into the well 
and kept there until all danger was over. 

Now quiet broods over the old Jackson home- 
stead. The cat stretches herself lazily on the door- 
step and resumes her nap. The red geraniums peep 
coyly from the windows. The old homestead seems 
to be dreaming of the past. 



58 



DRAMATIZATION. 

Time — The early part of the nineteenth century. 
Summer. About ten o'clock at night. 

Place — The drawing room of the Jackson home. 
A marble-topped table stands in the center of the 
room. On it are lighted candles and a few books 
carefully arranged. In the two windows are or- 
derly rows of plants. In one corner stands a book- 
case, and in the other, a slowly ticking grand- 
father's clock. On one side of the room is the 
melodeon. Family portraits hang on the wall. 
There are three entrances. The one at the left 
leads outdoors ; the one in the middle into the hall- 
way and from there into the cellar and the en- 
trance on the right opens on to the stairway. 

The occupants of the room are seated in old- 
fashioned high-back chairs and on a settee, while 
Ellen is seated at the melodeon. Mrs. Jackson, 
who is knitting, occupies an old-fashioned rocker. 
On the floor are circular braided rugs. On one of 
them a cat is curled up. 

Characters — 

William Jackson^ head of Jackson home. A 
^'keeper" of one of the stations of the under- 
ground railroad. Wears a black suit and high 
hat. 

Jacob Jones^ an inquisitive neighbor. Wears a 
dark suit, high hat, and carries a cane. 

59 



Edward Jackson, ) sons of William Jackson. 

Timothy Jackson, [ Dressed same as father. 

Gregoky, I slave owners. Thick set, and over- 

JoHNSON, ( dressed. Great air of pretension. 

Mrs. Jackson wears a flowered dress with hoop- 
skirt ; hair parted in the middle with long curls 
on each side. 

Sarah, bright dress; costume somewhat like her 
mother's. 

Ellen, hoop-skirt ; dressed very quietly. 

Caroline, wears figured lawn dress ; hair in plaits, 
twisted and tied with lilac ribbon. White pan- 
talets. 

Eliza, colored slave woman with child in her arms. 

Joe, her husband. Both of them wear tattered, 
soiled clothing to show that they have fought 
their way through brambles and underbrush. 
They are fugitives from the South and are on 
their way to Canada. 

The scene opens with all the Jackson family 
present except the father. Ellen is seated at the 
melodeon, Edward and Caroline are reading, Mrs. 
Jackson and Sarah are knitting while Timothy is 
wandering restlessly about the room. 

(Ellen smgs the first verse and chorus of 
''Nellie Gray/') 

Edward : (lifting his eyes from his hook) That's 
all right, Ellen. You almost make me feel sorry 
for Nellie Gray. 

Sarah: I should think you would be! Any- 
body with any heart couldn't help feeling that 
way. 

60 



Caroline : (running to the window^ pushing 
aside the curtain and peering out) I wonder where 
father can be! 

Timothy : It takes some time to bring slaves 
away through to Newton in a market wagon. 

Mrs. Jackson : (glancing nervously around) Oh ! 
Don't speak so loudly ! Some one might hear ! 

Edward : (laughing) Nobody but the mice, and 
they won't tell. 

Mrs. Jackson : Well, we must be safe. Rev- 
erend Holmes, you know, upheld the Fugitive Slave 
Law in last Sunday's sermon. You know the pen- 
alty for helping slaves to escape. Only today Mr. 
Brewster told Timothy that an abolitionist was 
a criminal. But God forbid our ever thinking of 
ourselves when the poor black man suffers such tor- 
ture and anguish. (Wipes her eyes.) 

Sarah : (indignautly) Think of fatlier being a 
criminal ! How can those slave owners separate 
wives and husbands and tear little babies from 
their mother's arms! And when the poor things 
try to escape, hiding all night in a strawstack or 
an old barn, they set the bloodhounds on them. 
They're treated worse than dogs! I suppose an 
abolitionist is a criminal because he doesn't help 
throw the poor things back into slavery. 

Edward : (admiringly) Well, Sarah, you'd 
make a good abolitionist yourself! 

Sarah : I am one already and I don't see why 
people shouldn't express their opinions. 

Ellen: (gently) But you know the Fugitive 
Slave Law, and it isn't wise to antagonize people. 
Then the underground railroad wouldn't be half 
so useful. 

61 



Mrs. Jackson : Ellen is right. We must be very 
careful or people will know that this house is a sta- 
tion of the underground railroad. The slaves 
could be easily caught. 

Sarah: (stubbornly) I think slavery is wicked. 

Ellen: So do we all. 

Timothy: (vehemently) It's the crudest thing 
that ever existed. 

Mrs. Jackson : It is cruel. I wonder that Rev- 
erend Holmes could get up in the pulpit and de- 
fend it. 

(A knock at the door.) 

Ellen: (quickly) I wonder who that is! 
Mrs. Jackson: (quietly) Timothy, open the 
door. 

(Timothy opens the door, Mr. Jacob Jones 
appears. ) 

Mr. Jacob Jones : (walking in and looking about 
suspiciously) Good-evening. Mr. Jackson not 
home? 

Mrs. Jackson : He's gone to market. 

Mr. Jones: (in a disappointed tone) Gone to 
market. Um! Gone to market. 

Mrs. Jackson: Won't you sit down? 

Mr. Jones : Um ! No, thank you. I expected to 
find Mr. Jackson at home. Have you seen the Rev- 
erend Holmes? 

Mrs. Jackson : (evenly) I have not seen him 
since Sunday. 

Mr. Jones: Well, he's right about the Fugitive 
Slave Law. (Thumps the floor with his cane.) Any 
man who helps a slave escape ought to be shut up 
in prison. 

62 



Sarah : Well, if you had to be tracked about like 
a wild beast, I guess you wouldn't like it very well. 

Mr. Jones: (gazing at her intently) Um! An 
abolitionist. 

Mrs. Jackson: (quickly changing the subject) 
How is your wife, Mr. Jones? 

Mr. Jones: Very well. Um! {Gazes at Sarah.) 
Um! Good-night. (Goes out.) 

Mrs. Jackson : Sarah, you must be more careful. 

Caroline : Thank goodness he's gone ! 

Timothy : If fathered come while he was here, 
there'd be a pretty kettle of fish. 

Sarah: Listen! I hear wheels. 
(They all listen.) 

Mrs. Jackson : (rising softly) Yes — they're com- 
ing into the yard. (A pause.) They've stopped at 
the door. 

(Three soft taps sound outside.) 

Caroline : (whispering) There he is now. 
Mrs. Jackson : (quietly opening the door) All 
right, William. There's no one here. 

( Mr. Jackson conies in with a lighted lantern. 

Eliza ivith her baby and Joe folloiv. They 

looked dazed and frightened.) 

Mrs. Jackson: You poor things! 

Eliza : (falling down on her knees) Oh, save us ! 
Save us ! They are following us ! 

Mr. Jackson : (hurriedly) Hush ! Your only 
salvation lies in your keeping quiet. (Turns to his 
wife and speaks rapidly.) They are following us. 
Quick, Timothy. Take the lantern. Down to the 
cellar ! 

(The fugitives appear unable to move.) 

63 



Mr. Jackson: (impatiently) Cornel Follow me! 
There is no time to be lost. Into the cellar. And 
Eliza, you must see that the baby does not cry. 

(They go out.) 

Sarah: Didn't they look dreadful! 

Mrs. Jackson: (dosing the door softly) ^Now, 
children! Not a word of this to any one. If any 
one comes, don't show by any sign that you know 
anything about this. Remember! 

(They all return to their former occupations.) 
(Mr. Jackson and Timothy reenter the room.) 

Mr. Jackson : Those poor creatures ! They have 
traveled two days with scarcely anything to eat! 
But the hunters are on the track this time. I 
wouldn't wonder if they'd be here any minute. 

Mrs. Jackson: Sit down! Quick! Read this 
book! 

Mr. Jackson: (laughing) Why, mother! You've 
given it to me upside down. 

Mrs. Jackson: Never mind. You do as I tell 
you. 

(He appears to he reading. A heavy hanging 
sounds on the outside door. They pay no heed 
arid the intensity of the knocking increases. 
Mr. Jackson rises slowly and opens the door.) 

Mr. Jackson: Who's there? 

(Gregory^s heavy voice from the ontside.) 

We want the slaves that are here in your house. 

Mr. Jackson: (yawning^ as he slowly opens the 

door) Oh, what did you say? (Peers sleepily iiito 

64 



the darkness.) Pardon me. I don't believe I have 
the pleasure of knowing you. Won't you come in? 

(The two meUy Gregory Jeadifig, enter with an 
air of defiance.) 

Gregory: (loudly) We want those slaves that 
you've hidden here in your house. You know it's 
a risky matter, Mister Jackson, to try that sort of 
thing. It won't work with me, I can tell you that ! 

Mr. Jackson: (i^i a dazed manner) Slaves? 
(Yaivns.) My good man, what do you mean? 

Gregory : (roughly) You know well enough 
what I mean! (Snaps his whip angrily.) Oh, you 
abolitionist ! You hide them and think you can de- 
ceive us! (Glances sharply about the room.) 

Mr. Jackson : (with dignity) You see no one 
here but my family, gentlemen. 

3 ou^N^O^ '.- (somewhat taken hack) Oh, come on, 
Gregory. This is a great time o' niglit to break 
into a man's house. 

Gregory: (stuhhornly) I am going to see this 
thing through. (Turns abruptly to Mr. Jackson.) 
Can we search the house? 

Mr. Jackson: (howing) Certainly. 

Gregory: (leading the way to the door that 
opens on the stairway) Upstairs? 

Mr. Jackson: Yes. 

Gregory: Come on, Johnson. (Insists.) We'll 
go through this house. 

(William Jackson^ following them^ lifts a 
warning hand to his family as he goes out. 
Heavy footsteps are heard overhead as the two 
intruders go from room to room. Presently 
a hahy cries.) 

65 



Mrs. Jackson: (rising and going out) Oh, 
they've frightened the children! 

(Johnson, Gregory and Mr. Jackson returning.) 

Johnson: (weakly protesting) You see, no one 
is there. 

Gregory: (almost shouting) That doesn't prove 
they aren't in the cellar! 

(Sarah glances in dismay at her mother, who 
has just entered. Her mother shakes her head 
very slightly.) 

William Jackson : (opening wide the door lead- 
ing to the cellar) This way, gentlemen. 

(They go down into the cellar.) 

Sarah : (clasping her hands) Oh, mother, I hope 
they don't find them! 

Mrs. Jackson: (sternly) Hush, child. Go on 
with your knitting. 

(Gregory, Johnson and William Jackson 
presently reappearing. ) 

Gregory : (irritably) They do not seem to be 
here. 

Johnson : (in a determined tone) Come on, now. 
We've had enough of this. 

Mrs. Jackson: (rising and howing politely) 
Good-evening, gentlemen. 

Johnson : (awkwardly) Come on, Gregory. Good- 
night. 

Gregory : (talking as he goes out) Well, those 
slaves. We've got to find 'em ! We — 

(The door closes behind them.) 

m 



William Jackson : (quickly) Yon see how careful 
we must all be about this matter. Those slaves 
never made a sound in the cellar. Lucky for 
tliem! We'll have to get them out by tomorrow 
night, though. I'm a little bit afraid of that fel- 
low Gregory. 

Mrs. Jackson : (fervently) Thank goodness, for 
the time being those poor things are safe! 

CURTAIN. 



67 



UNDER ''THE OLD ELMS." 

''As if to music tlie^^ had grown, 

Stately and fair the elms uprise, 
Their swaying shadows earthw^ard thrown, 

Their tops rejoicing in the skies. 
What life and death, what love and pain. 

What nights of gloom and days of gold, 
Have passed beneath their leafy reign! 

Yet still their ancient pride they hold. 
Still tower o'er roof and slope and plain, 

And link the new years to the old." 

On the corner of Walnut Street and Elm Road 
is the Clatlin Estate known as "The Old Elms." 
Here once lived General Hull. After him came 
Governor Claflin, who erected a beautiful home 
amid the sheltering branches of the stately elms. 

Throughout the land. Governor Claflin and his 
wife were known for their kind and gracious hos- 
pitality. To their friendly doors came many 
guests of world-wide fame. 

Doctor Campbell, the noted philanthropist for 
the blind; Horace Mann, the great educator; Dr. 
Lyman Abbott; Elizabeth Stuart Phelps; Rever- 
end James Freeman Clarke; and Doctor Smith, 
Avho wrote our national hymn, "America," were 
frequent visitors at "The Old Elms." 

The noted author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," the 
book that aroused such intense feeling against 
slavery, was ever a welcome guest. In the shade 
of the "Old Elms," Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe 

68 



and her famous brother, Henry Ward Beeclier, 
used to play croquet. So fond were they of this 
pastime that they would play in the pouring rciin, 
and when darkness came they would place lighted 
lanterns near the wickets to guide the path of a 
wayward ball. 

Mr. Whittier, the gentle Quaker poet, and Mrs. 
Stowe used to relate wonderful stories of ghosts 
and goldins which so terrified some of the guests 
that they were afraid to retire for the night. 

Lucy Larcom, the i^oetess, composed many of 
her lovely poems to the music of the breezes among 
the old elms. 

Horace Greeley lectured in Newton and was the 
guest of Mr. and Mrs. Claflin during his stay. He 
was so intent upon what he had to say that he 
would have worn his huge ^'artics" on the plat- 
form if the committee in charge had not suggested 
that he remove them. 

Principal Fairbairn of Mansfield College, Ox- 
ford, England, and Professor Henry Drummond 
of world-wide fame were among the guests at the 
Claflin homestead. To the little girls who gathered 
weekly on the broad lawn to learn sewing. Princi- 
pal Fairbairn would talk, telling them how they 
could make themselves useful and how they might 
help less fortunate children. 

A company of warlike Indians was brought by 
the Indian Commissioner to Boston. Sitting Bull, 
Thunder Cloud and Red Jacket wanted to see how 
the ^'big chief" of Massachusetts lived, so they were 
driven out to ''The Old Elms." Dressed in their 
blankets, feathers, beads and wampum, they were 
presented to Mrs. Claflin. Stolidly they acknowl- 

69 



edged the greeting of their hostess, not betraying 
by either word or look that they had not been ac- 
customed to this hospitality all their lives. 

On the 12th of June, 1882, Messrs. Houghton 
and Mifflin proposed a lawn fete in honor of Mrs. 
Stowe's seventieth birthday. Mrs. Stowe decided 
to have the celebration on the lawn of the Claflin 
Estate. A large tent was spread under the old 
elms and many who had written a book or had 
sung a song came to do her homage. 

Doctor Holmes, Mr. and Mrs. E. P. Whipple, T. 
B. Aldrich, Louise Chandler Moulton, Dr. Lyman 
Abbott, Mr. and Mrs. James T. Fields, Eliza- 
beth Stuart Phelps and John Greenleaf Whittier 
were among the invited guests. 

The swaying boughs of the old elms nodded 
gently over the heads of the illustrious company. 

Some years have passed since those gracious days 
of Claflin hospitality. 

The old house has been moved further down Elm 
Road and in its place stands the Technical and Vo- 
cational Schools to whose doors throng the eager 
youth of Newton. Amid all this activity, there is 
little time for remembering the old Claflin days. 

But once in a while, when the little brook mur- 
murs a gentle accompaniment to the wind that still 
sighs among the old elms and when at eventide the 
crickets chirp plaintively and stars gleam softly 
in the dark sky, there seems to brood over all a 
remembrance of the golden days that have gone by. 



70 



DRAMATIZATION. 

Time — June 14, 1882. Five o'clock in the after- 
noon. Mrs. Stowe's seventieth birthday. 

Place — Interior of a tent on the lawn of the 
Claflin Estate. A platform is at the further end. 
On the right stands a piano. Syringa blossoms, 
buttercups and daisies give the place a festive 
appearance. 

Characters — 

Governor Claflin^ imposing appearance. Dressed 
in costume of nineteenth century, which diiTered 
very little from modern dress. 

John Greenleaf Whittier^ a tall, slender man 
with white hair and dark piercing eyes. Dressed 
in black Quaker costume. 

Doctor Holmes^ white hair. Humorous looking. 

Reverend Henry Ward Beecher^ commanding 
appearance. 

Mr. Trowbridge. 

Mr. Frank B. Sanborn. 

A. Bronson Alcott^ white hair; rather absent- 
minded. 

Mr. Houghton. 

Judge Albion N. Tourgee^ dignified appearance. 

Doctor Stowe^ gray beard ; keen eyes. 

Mrs. Claflin^ wears a white dress and is conspic- 
uous as the hostess of the occasion. 

Harriet Beecher Stowe, blue eyes; white hair. 
Wears a dark dress and a light shawl. 

71 



Lucy Larcom, shy, retiring. Wears a plain dark 

dress. 
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, gray eyes. Hair 

streaked with gray. Medium height. Dark 

dress. 
Alice Freeman, hazel eyes. Striking appearance. 
Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. 
Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, Dolly Varden 

dress. 
Mrs. Humphrey Allen (soloist). 
Miss Charlotte F. Bates. 
Other Guests, dressed in gala attire. 

^'Through Claflin woods the west wind sighs, 

The fields are red with clover, 
The sweet-fern grows, the blackberry blows, 

The rocky pastures over; 
Its hill still looks to mount and sea ; 

Its springs still feed tlie river; 
But tlie early days and tlie simple ways 

Alike have fled forever.'' 

Curtain goes up, revealing Harriet Beecher 
Stowe, Mr. Whittier, Doctor Holmes, Elizabeth 
Stuart Phelps, Reverend Henry Ward Beecher and 
Mr. Houghton, Avho is to introduce tlie speakers of 
the day, seated on the platform. On the right 
near the piano is the Germania band and on the 
left is the Beetlioven Club. A throng of guests 
moves about in groups, talking and laughing. Mrs. 
Claflin is prominent among them. 

Mr. Claflin : This is a day of great rejoicing. 
Mrs. Claflin : Sli ! Mrs. Allen is going to sing. 



(Mrs. Allen sings ''Old Black Jo&'; the 
guests silently take their seats.) 

(At the close they all clap.) 

Mr. Houghton: (rising and bowing) We have 
met two or three times within the last few years 
to set up, as it were, milestones in the lives of some 
of those who are justly esteemed the creators of 
American literature. We come together again to 
celebrate a birthday. You know the writer, you 
know her great book, "Uncle Tom's Cabin." 
Crowned heads, statesmen, scholars and the peo- 
ple have alike read, wept over and applauded the 
simple story. Today, our own beloved country is 
redeemed. Slavery, with all its attendant evils, 
has disappeared forever and no one, either North 
or South, desires it back again. But the produc- 
tion of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" is not the only ser- 
vice to literature by our honored guest. Her other 
works are inimitable in their way, as illustrating 
New England life and teaching the homely virtues 
of truth and duty; as, for instance, "The Minister's 
Wooing," "Oldtown Folks," "Sam Lawson's Fire- 
side Stories," and other books which we all know 
so well. But as the sun in his meridian splendor 
eclipses the orbs of night, so Uncle Tom, by its 
universal interest, eclipses these other books which 
would make the reputation of any author. 

(Loud applause.) 

Mr. H0UC4HT0N : An elaborate program has been 
prepared this afternoon for our honored guest. 
Music and poetry will make up the day's pleas- 
ures. (Sits doivn.) 



3 



(The Beethoven Club plays ''Beethoven's Sonata/') 
(Applause.) 

Mr. Houghton: (rising) The first speaker is 
the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher, brother of 
Mrs. Stowe. 

Revp]Rend Henry Ward Beecher: (rises and 
hows) I don't know whether it is in good taste for 
any other member of my father's family to join in 
the laudation of Mrs. Stowe, but if it is, I am a 
very proper one to do it. I know that for a long 
time after the publication of ''Uncle Tom's Cabin" 
there were a great many very wise people who said 
they knew that she never wrote it herself but that 
I did it. The matter at last became so scandalous 
that I determined to put an end to it and there- 
fore I wrote ''Norwood." It killed the thing dead. 

Now I think we might have a good experience 
meeting here this afternoon, if every one would 
tell under what circumstances he read the book and 
how he acted. I am in sympathy with you in your 
rejoicing this afternoon and thank you for your 
courtesy shown to my sister and your sister, for 
she has won that place in the hearts of many. I 
leave the gratulations to you. 

I thank you for my father's sake and for my 
motlier's sake for the courtesy, the friendliness, 
and the kindness which you give to Mrs. Stowe. 

(Applause. In the mean time^ Whittier gets 
up and steals gently out.) 

Mr. Houghton: (glancing around) Mr. Whit- 
tier? 

(A slight pause follows.) 

74. 



Mr. Frank B. Sanborn : (mounting the plat- 
form) Mr. Whittier asked me to read this for him. 
(Turns to the audience. Reads.) 

^'Thrice welcome from the Land of Flowers 
And golden-fruited orange bowers 
To this sweet, green-turfed June of ours! 
To her, who, in our evil time, 
Dragged into light the nation's crime 
^Yith strength beyond the strength of men. 
And, mightier than their sword, her pen; 
To her who world-Avide entrance gave 
To the log cabin of the slave. 
Made all his wrongs and sorrows known, 
And all earth's languages his own 
North, South, and East and West, 

Made all 
The common air electrical 
Until the o'ercharged bolts of heaven 
Blazed down, and every chain was riven !" 

(Loud applause.) 

Mr. Houghton: I am very sorry Mr. Whittier 
is not here to receive the tribute due him. 

(Music — Mrs. Humphrey Allen sings ''My 
Darling Nellie Gray.^') 

Mr. Houghton : I take great pleasure in intro- 
ducing Doctor Holmes. 

Doctor Holmes: I became deeply interested in 
^'Uncle Tom's Cabin,'' so much interested that I 
soon laid aside the novel of Dickens which I had 
been reading and gave myself wliolly up to ^'Uncle 

75 



Tom's Cabin" until I reached the end. (Pause. 
Reads the following poem.) 

^^If every tongue that speaks her praise 
For whom I shape my tinkling phrase 

Were summoned to the table, 
The vocal chorus that would meet 

Of mingling accents harsh and sweet 
From every land and tribe, would beat 

The polyglots of Babel. 

Know her ! Who knows not Uncle Tom 
And her he learned his gospel from, 

Had never heard of Moses; 
Full well the brave black hand we know 

That gave to freedom's grasp the hoe 
That killed the weeds that used to grow 

Among the Southern roses. 

When Truth herself was Slavery's slave, 
Thy hand the prisoned suppliant gave, 

The rainbow wings of fiction. 
And Truth who soared descends today 

Bearing an angel's wreath away 
Its lilies at thy feet to lay 

With Heaven's owm benediction." 

(He sits down amid great applause.) 

(Band plays a lively air.) 

Mr. Houghton : The next friend on the program 
is Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. It is with great pleasure 
that I present Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. 

76 



Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney : (Reads.) 

"Queen of the months of the year! 
Hour of her crowning and prime! 
Everything royal and dear 
Comes in this bountiful time. 

Everything noble and high, 
Everything lowly and sweet; 

Tree-tops are grand in the sky 
Daisies in bloom at our feet. 

Sunshine, and blossom, and song. 
Glory, and beauty, and praise ; 

Blessing and gladness belong 

To souls that are born in such days. 

Came she but these to inherit. 
Signs of her nature's attune. 

Joyous and affluent spirit 
Born in that far-away June? 

Into the hearts of the human 

Purification of tears. 
That was the work of the woman; 

God gave the wine of the years ! 

Mary, elect of the Lord, 

Yield we thy praise to another? 
He who hath w^rought for his word 

Is daughter and sister and mother I" 

(Applause.) 



Mr. Houghton: Doctor Holmes will now read 
us a poem Avritten by our friend, Elizabeth Stuart 
Phelps : 

'^Arise, and call her blessed, — seventy years! 
Each one a tongue to speak for her, who needs 
Xo poor device of ours to tell today 
The story of her glory in our hearts. 
Precede us all, ye quiet lips of love. 
Ye honors high of home, nobilities 
Of mother and of wife, the heraldry 
Of Iiappiness; dearer to her than were 
Tlie homage of the world. We yield unto 
The royal rights of tenderness. Speak, then. 
Before all voices, ripened human life!" 

(Solo by Mrs. Humphrey Allen^ *' ^Waij down 
upon the Swanee River/') 

Mr. Houghton: Mr. Trowbridge. 
Mr. Trowbridge: (Reads.) 

^'Genius, 'tis said, knows not itself. 
But works unconscious wholly, 
Even so she wrought, who built in thought 
The Cabin of the Lowly. 

Her life was like some quiet bridge, 

Impetuous tides sweep under. 
So week by week the story grew 

From wonder on to wonder. 

I greet her now, when South and North 
Have ceased their deadly quarrels ; 

And say, or sing, while here I fling 
This leaf upon her laurels!" 

(Applause.) 
78 



Mr. Houghton: Last but not least, Miss Char- 
lotte F. Bates. 

Miss Bates: (Reads.) 

^^Engiaiid has Eliot, France has Sand, to show, 
America, her Harriet Beecher Stowe ! 
Thy fame, like his whose greeting fails us now. 
Leaving the light on his remembered brow, 
Has spanned the earth, till both to all belong 
One through the might of story; one, of song. 
Would that thy genius with a kindred stroke 
The claims of mental slavery also broke! 
Now against that w^e fain would have thee deal 
The massive blow that all the world shall feel. 
And while they laugh and weep at truth's own 

face. 
Seek to burst oJ^ the shackles that disgrace! 
However much already we may owe. 
Make our debt larger to the name of Stowe." 

(Great applause.) 

(Selection of Beethoveii's played hy Beethoven 
Club.) 

Mr. Houghton: Our friend. Reverend Henry 
Ward Beecher, suggested that we have an "experi- 
ence" meeting. I call upon Judge Albion Tourgee 
to tell us what effect "Uncle Tom's Cabin" had on 
him when he first read the book. 

Judge Albion Tourgee: I'm going to tell you 
just how much I was absorbed in reading "Uncle 
Tom's Cabin." I was so engrossed in the book that 
I neglected my hoeing. My father was so angry 
that he threatened to hide the book, but I fled to 

70 



the woods where I could read it without interrup- 
tion. 

Mr. Houghton: (laughing) That is indeed an 
experience. And now (turning to Mrs. Stowe; 
we shall close our program this afternoon by a few 
words from Mrs. Stowe. 

(As Mrs. Stowe comes forward to the front of 
the ijlatform, the company rise and listen with 
eager interest.) 

Mrs. Stowe: I wish to say that I thank all my 
friends from my heart — that is all. And one thing- 
more, — and that is, if any of you have doubt, or 
sorrow, or pain, if you doubt about this world, just 
remember what God has done; just remember that 
this great sorrow of slavery has gone, gone by for- 
ever. I see it every day at the South. I walk 
about there and see the lowly cabins. I see those 
people growing richer and richer. They are happy 
and they know how to enjoy themselves. Better 
times are coming for them. Let us never doubt. 
Everything that ought to happen is going to 
happen. 

(They all clap. The hand plays.) 

Mr. Houghton: I wish to thank Mr. and Mrs. 
Claflin for the kind courtesy which they have 
shown in giving their house and grounds for this 
celebration. A rare generosity has tendered such 
a favor and we accept it with gratitude. 

(The hand plays while the company slowly 
disperse. Some gather ahout Mrs. Stowe to 
congratulate her. The curtain goes slowly 
down.) 

80 



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